The Search For A Tenth RingWraith
by Badrang3
Summary: Angry at Elrond for swiping the group of Nine idea, the Witch King sends Nazgul Number Nine to find them... another Ringwraith!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. That was easy. Now on with the show!

It was a dark and stormy night in Morgul Vale. Darkness was everywhere. So dark it was, that if two people were to wander into the Vale, they would bump into each other for several minutes since they couldn't see where they were going. Yes, it was truly very dark. But it wasn't as dark as the deep dark thoughts thought in the dark mind of the Dark Lord, the Witch King. Dark was he, and his thoughts even darker. They were so dark that if a psychic tried to read his mind, he would need a flashlight. And at the moment, this dark beings dark mind was thinking dark thoughts about the darkest thing he had to look forward to.

Yes, it was the monthly board meeting.

Having found it very difficult to keep track of one another's evil deeds, the Ringwraiths, all very dark, found it necessary to have one of these meetings at the beginning of each month. No one really wanted to be there, but out of fear that some one else might be planning the same evil deed, they had to make sure they got first dibs.

The Witch King, being the head Ringwraith, sat at the head of the long dark table, watching his eight other co-workers take their seats. All of them had long since forgotten there names, and found it much easier just to refer to each other as a number. When everyone was settled, the Dark Lieutenant coughed a dark cough and started the meeting.

"Hello everyone. How are we today?"

"Well, I got a splinter…"

"Quiet, Number 4." (For it was indeed the fourth Ringwraith who had spoken) "Splinters are inconsequential to the darkness that is arising!" Everyone groaned. It sounded like the boss was going to go into another long speech about how wonderful dark is.

"Yes, dark!" he started. "Truly the greatest thing ever created! Why, without dark, we wouldn't have shadows, or shade, or even gloom! We wouldn't even have phrases like, "Keeping someone in the dark", or, "These are dark times." In fact…"

"Um, excuse me, sir," said Number 2. "But I think we really should get moving on."

"Yes, quite. Number Three, read…" he paused for dramatic effect, "the suggestion box!"

Number Three opened the box in which happened to contain suggestions and read the first one. "Dear sirs. Why is it so infernally dark around here? Can't we afford lamps or something?"

"That suggestion will be ignored," stated the King of Witches.

"The next suggestion reads, 'Sirs. I think we could attract more people to come and live here if we adopted a more family friendly atmosphere. For this reason, I suggest we change the name to Morgul _Ville_. Thank you for your time.'"

"Find that orc and feed him to the spider."

"And the last suggestion says, "I'm lost. Have you seen my tour group?"

The Witch King sighed. "Don't these people know that they shouldn't wander off? Tell this person we have no intention what so ever on helping him find his tour group. For we have much more important things to worry about." Every one decided this might actually be worth listening to, so they all leaned in.

"Now, it has come to my attention that that pansy elf Elrond has had…a council!" Realizing no one seemed to care about this astounding bit of news, the Witch King decided to elaborate. "Now, we don't now what this was all about, but that doesn't really matter, for what we _do_ know is so much more important. For what ever purpose, he has made a Fellowship of Nine companions!"

"Oh, now they're just ripping us off!"

"Exactly, Number Six. Everyone knows we came up with the whole group of nine thing a long time ago. But, in my infinite wisdom, I have devised a cunning plan!" At this he stood up, as he thought it made him look more intelligent, and started to pace around the table.

"Now, we don't know what they're up to, but no one takes our ideas! So, rather than waste a lot of time trying to track them down, we shall simply out do them!"

"You mean…"

"Yes! We shall find ourselves… a tenth Ringwraith!" Everyone gasped, for they did not know what else to do.

"But sir, don't you need a Ring of Power to become a Ring Wraith?"

"Luckily, Sauron has lent to us one of those Dwarves rings, we'll use that. But I'm afraid one of you must take this task. Who's up for it?"

Now, it just so happens that the Ninth Ringwraith had hadn't really paying attention to what was going on. He was in the process of thinking about how he could improve his singing voice. Thinking no one could hear him, he started to warm up his vocal chords by going, "Mememememememe…"

"Excellent," announced the With King. "Number Nine has just volunteered for the position!"

"Huh, what?" stammered Number Nine. Then realizing he hadn't been paying attention, he decided to play along with whatever was happening. "Um, yes, I will, uh, do it."

"Wonderful! Attention all! Number Nine takes the quest to find us our Tenth Ringwraith!"

Two minutes later, Nine had been hurled out of the doors of Minas Morgul. He got up and brushed the dust off of his robes. "Yes, well, it would appear I shall have to do this task. I, Number Nine, will find us our…ow! Hey watch where you're going, buddy!"

"Sorry, I didn't see you. It's just so dark around here."

"Well don't do it again. Now then, I, Number Nine, will…"

"Hey buddy, want to buy a bar of soap?"

"No! Now then, I…"

"Oh no! Shelob has gone insane and is attacking everyone in the valley! AAUUUUUGGH!"

"Oh forget it, I'm leaving."


	2. Ordeal at Osgiliath

Dear Diary:

Today I finally got to Osgiliath, after a long, long walk. It wouldn't have taken so long if my horse hadn't drowned a while back. We did try to put them back together, but we ran out of glue. So it is that I have walked all the way here. Hopefully, since men are very easy to corrupt, some one here will take this dwarven ring of power and take on the position of the Tenth Ringwraith.

Your pal, Number Nine.

Note to self: Work on my tan.

And so it was that Number Nine reached the bridge at Osgiliath. Unfortunately, some young deviant seemed to have broken it. "Rotten vandals," muttered Nine. He was now in a very tricky situation. He was terrified of swimming across, because it is a well-known fact that Ringwraiths are hydrophobic. This is due to the fact that their black cloaks are made out of pure wool, and if they so much as touch water they begin to shrink. Since Nine hadn't brought a spare, he was left with one alternative.

"HEEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO!" he yelled, hoping some one on the other side would notice.

Now it just so happen that Florin, son of Morin, who defeated the evil dragon Red Eyes, who had killed the mighty king Rocksregan, who had once ruled a small land called Here, was walking around the city looking for his contact lens, when he heard the cry. He stopped and looked over the wrecked bridge and saw the one who had called him.

"Oh good, you did hear me," said Number Nine. "Now, I hate to be a nuisance, but some idiot has gone and broken this bridge. Now if you could throw a rope across…"

"NAZGUL!" Yelled Florin, who really couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes, yes, that's right. The ninth one, in fact. One day I hope to get promoted to eight, but we'll see what happens. Now then…what are you doing?"

Florin was currently scared out of his gourd, and was rolling around on the ground clutching his head. "Oh, my mind is filled with fear! My soul is being attacked by darkness. The very air I breathe seems contaminated!"

"Well I'm not surprised, you're kicking up an awful lot of dust, rolling around on the ground like that."

"The terror is over whelming!" cried Florin, and he cast him self into the river.

"Well, why did you do that? That was just dumb!" yelled Nine, who was getting more frustrated at not getting across. At that moment, another soldier, whose name was Floyd, came walking by, and saw Florin's body at the bottom of the river.

"Hey soldier, now isn't the time for a bath! You're on duty!" He looked across the river at Nine. "And what do you think you're doing?"

"Hello there, sir. I'm from Minas Morgul, and I was just talking to your man there when he…"

"The darkness is upon us!" yelled Floyd, and he too cast himself in the river.

Now this went on for quite a while, as soldiers kept hearing another soldier's cries as they cast themselves into the river, and when they went to investigate, they too would cast themselves in. Eventually, so many people had jumped in that their dead bodies had piled up enough to make a walkway. Thinking he should get to the other side before anyone else came and drowned themselves, he walked across the path of the dead and arrived on the other side.

As soon as he stepped on the other side, a new man was walking towards him. Lord Faramir was he, and he had been for quite some time. When he was born, his father had considered naming him Loretta just for the fun of it, but this thankfully never happened. He came within a few feet of Nine.

"Excuse me," said Faramir, "but several of my men seem to be resting at the bottom of the river. Can you explain to me the cause?"

"I'm sorry about that, but I seem to have this dreadful effect on people that makes them kill themselves rather than face me."

"That's unfortunate. Tell me, why are you here?"

"Well, I was just trying to get into the city, but some one seems to have broken the bridge."

Faramir sighed. "Yes that was my brother's doing. He has a terrible fear of bridges. But enough of this banter, you must come and have lunch with me."

At this moment, Number Nine realized he had a very good opportunity right here to complete his quest. He decided to try and sell the Ringwraith idea on Faramir.

"Well, Captain Faramir, I perceive you are very fair."

Faramir glared at him. "Is that some sort of play on my name?"

"Er, no, I mean that you're better than most people."

"Oh, thanks. I work very hard at being so."

"Tell me, is their anything you wish you could change in your life?"

"Well, before this whole war thing, I had wanted to be a lawyer. But _nooooooo, _being a lawyer isn't respectable, said my dad. He said I should become a warrior like my brother. I tried to convince him that we could simply sue Mordor for wrongful trespassing, but did he listen? Of course he didn't. Instead, he sends me to stand around here guarding this completely useless city for no reason at all."

"I see. And how long have you brooded over this?"

"Oh, I almost never think about it."

Number Nine smiled at him, which was very tricky, considering he had no visible mouth. "And would you say I could give you the power to change all that, simply by giving you… THIS!" And in a fashion some would call over dramatic, he pulled the ring out of his cloak and showed it to Faramir.

Now Faramir stared at it long and hard before he finally said, "Nah, I don't like rings. I don't think I look very good with them."

"Oh, come now, they're all the rage."

"I don't think so."

"It'd look great on you."

"Nope."

"Please?"

"I think you should leave"

Number Nine sighed, and started to leave the city to get to Minas Tirith. Just before he left, he turned around and said to Faramir, "Tell you what, I'll just leave this by the side of the road, and when I leave you can pick it up."

Faramir looked at him indignantly. "I never pick up things that are left on the side of the road, thank you very much."

Realizing that this was a hopeless endeavour, Nine continued his journey to Minas Tirith, leaving Faramir to prepare the defences, lest any one from the Enemy were to slip by.


	3. Minas Tirith Mardi Gras

After several long minutes of walking, Number Nine arrived at the gates of the White City. Nine marvelled at how much paint it must have taken to make it look that way, and how much it had cost, and where they had gotten that much paint. It seemed a poor use of money, but different strokes for different folks, he decided. As interesting as this random musing was, Nine thought it would be wise to knock on the door, as you can't sell rings to large white walls, as he had tried many times.

It wasn't very long before a soldier of Gondor opened the door. He seemed to be very cheerful. "Greetings, traveler!" he exclaimed. "What brings you to the city of Minas Tirith?"

The man's happiness caught Number Nine off guard. Usually people who saw him cried, or yelled about how the end was nigh, or curled into a little ball, or something. "Um, I'm from the, uh, Mordorian Scouts, and we're fundraising for, err, our band trip by selling cookies door-to-door. Would you like to buy some?"

"Alas!" cried the guard. "I have no money on me, having a large gaping hole in my pocket. But please enter our fair city, which has erupted in a state of euphoria!"

The soldier wasn't kidding. Everyone in the city was dancing in the street. Unfortunately, the only dance any one seemed to know was the Robot. But this did not seem to concern anyone unduly, and they performed their mechanical-inspired grooving quite contentedly.

Nine tried to talk to some of the residents, but they were all caught up in their joy. He was considering leaving this Middle Earth Mardi Gras when another soldier appeared.

"Ho there, stranger! What does though want in our beautiful city?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to talk to one or two people, but since everyone is both hipping and hopping, I'm kind of being ignored."

"Ah, then you shall come with me to meet the Lord Denethor. He is always ready to receive news from outsiders." And so the guard led Number Nine through the city. After much pushing, shoving, and three marriage proposals, they arrived at the top of the city. The Lord Denethor was resting underneath the white tree, uncharacteristically relaxed.

"My Lord," said the guard, "an outsider has come to speak with you."

Denethor sprang up. "Ah, thank you Fredrick, you may leave us." As the guard left, Denethor shook the Nazgul's hand warmly. "Welcome, my friend, welcome to our city of joy! What is it you seek?"

Number Nine was taken aback. The Steward had always been rumoured to have been a sour grape that didn't get out much. "Uh, well, I _did_ come here to try and corrupt someone, but everyone seems to be so happy that I haven't had much luck."

Denethor smiled. "Yes, that is my doing. I was sitting in the bath one day when I realized that life was too short for wars and depression and the such. I have decided to spread good cheer and happiness through out Gondor. Heck, I might even write what's-his-name, my other kid, back into my will. Yes, my friend," as he slapped Number Nine on the back, "I am a new man!"

Nine was at a loss for words. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. You see, I'm trying to sell this Ring of Power off on some one, but I don't suppose you want to accept now."

"No, I am quite content, thank you. Perhaps you would like to stay for dinner?"

"No, I must be going. But I really want to repay you for your kindness… I know!" he exclaimed, and out of his robes he drew a bowling ball resembling thing. "This here is a palantir. It lets you see things that you normally couldn't, unless you had really good eyes sight." And he handed the ball to the Steward.

"Thank you my friend. We will treasure it…" his voice trailed off as he looked into the palantir. Suddenly he yelled out, "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!" and ran back inside.

Number Nine couldn't think of the reason for the Lord's mood swing, but he felt it was best if he left the city. After all, Ringwraiths don't just create themselves, and he had many more miles to travel.


	4. The Mordor Morale Effort

Number Nine was lost.

He hadn't meant to get lost, of course. These things just seemed to happen. He had gotten the idea of cutting through Rohan, in order to get a horse, in order to avoid walking, in order to avoid hurting his feet, in order to avoid tripping, in order to avoid being laughed at by near by ground hogs (again!), in order to carry out Number One's orders. But the only map the Ringwraith's possessed was a treasure map of a desert island they got off a pirate once. And as exciting as it was to go treasure hunting, it really didn't apply to the situation at hand (that and the fact that Number Nine had given up looking for the giant "X" the map spoke of).

In his wanderings, Nine had, in fact, wound up nearby the Emyn Muil, which had no horses at all. It had very little of any thing, in fact, except rocks. That's because this is where the Middle Earth Rock Collectors Guild met every year to discuss the rocks they had found. But they never seemed to clean up after themselves, and always left the rocks behind after the convention. And since the convention was held last September, it was very unlikely that Number Nine was going to run into any one.

So you can imagine his surprise when he ran into three midgets.

It was an odd looking group, to be sure. One of them was very fair, and looked dead tired; the other was a fairly plump, shrewd looking fellow; and the last was an unbelievably skinny fellow with very little hair. On top of that, they were remarkably small. Still, as Nine observed, it wasn't very nice to make fun of those with physical oddities (heck, Nine didn't even have a face!) so he decided to greet them with the traditional, "Hello."

The poor things were obviously socially inept. In polite society, gaping wide eyed and planting your face in the ground (as the skinny one was doing) was not deemed acceptable. Nine decided to try again. "Nice weather we've been having lately."

The tired looking one (who seemed to have something wrong with his shoulder; he was always clutching it) recovered first. "Uh, uh, yep, very good weather, yep…" he stammered.

Now that he had made contact, Nine inquired, "So, uh, what are you fellows doing in these parts?"

The tired one scratched his fore head. "Why, we're, uh… from the Mordor Morale Effort! We're, er, going to go and provide entertainment for our brave, uh, orcs from home."

Number Nine nodded (or at least, his hood bobbed up and down). "That's very good of you. Say, while I'm here, can I hear a song from you guys?"

The tired one stumbled. "A song?" he said, in a tone that sounded suspiciously like panic. "A song, you say? Um, well, yes, of course! Give the good man a song, uh, Gamwise Samgee," he said as he prodded his plump looking partner.

The fat one, looking startled, coughed quietly, put his hands behind his back as if he was reciting poetry, and began his song:

_Oh, we ain't Hobbits, nosiree_

_Just harmless travellers wandering free_

_And we certainly ain't planning the downfall_

_Of the Dark Lord, nope, not at all_

_And we certainly don't have the One Ring_

_Because it's a very dangerous thing_

_And we're not going to throw it in the fire_

_So please don't kill us, Mr. Black Rider!_

The tired one clutched his fore head and shook it, but Number Nine thought it was rather good. "Well, that certainly was very nice! But I really must be…" he trailed off as he looked at the skinny one cowering in the dirt. "Wait a minute," he said, as he picked up the creature by the neck, "I remember you! You're that thing we captured a while back, Rollum, or something like that."

The creature hissed. "No, no, he is mistaken, Black Rider is! We never seen him before, have we, Precious?"

Number Nine shook him. "Don't lie! We let you out for a purpose! You said you knew a great bakery that made the best cheese cake around, and if we let you out, you'd bring us back some! Well? Where is it!"

"_Gollum! _All out of cheese cake, they were! We thought we'd pick up some bran muffins instead, at other bakery!"

"What! You know we hate bran!" Number Nine threw the creature to ground. "That does, time to your best Swiss cheese impression!" he said as he drew his sword.

"No, wait!" the tired one shouted. "You can't do that!"

"Why on Middle Earth not?" Number Nine queried.

"Because, uh, he has a wonderful singing voice! And if you kill him, no one will be able to sing the soprano notes!"

Nine put his sword back in his scabbard. "That sounds reasonable, I suppose," he said, as he walked off in what he desperately hoped was the direction to Rohan. "Well, I'm off then. I was going to try and pass of a ring on you guys, but I see you have one already," he said, indicating the one around the tired one's neck.

The tired midget fingered his ring. "Yes, yes, I already have this totally unremarkable, not-at-all powerful ring."

"Yes, it looks very nice."

"Why thank you."

"Can I see it?"

"My, my, look at the time! I'm afraid we must be off!" And with that, the trio bolted out of sight.


	5. The Thinking UrukHai

It's an interesting thing, Number Nine mused, how a person can be in a completely flat plain but still not see any sign of life. It wasn't nearly as interesting as a tap dancing aardvark, but interesting none the less.

He had made his way to an area he though had the distinct possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was a small chance of the idea that this area may very well be Rohan. But, since he had no map, or a sense of direction, there was no real way of knowing.

So rather than stumble around lost without a clue as to where he was, Number Nine decided it might be wise to ask the large on coming mob for directions. It was an ugly looking group to be sure, but there certainly were a lot of them, so there was a good chance at least one of them knew where they were. Once the group finally made it to where he was standing, the Ringwraith halted the column, and asked the fellow in front, "Excuse me, sir, but is this, by any chance, Rohan?"

The fellow seemed to mishear the question, because he responded by crying out, "We are the fighting Uruk-Hai!"

Number Nine nodded. "Well, that certainly is very interesting. Now, can you tell me whether or not this is Rohan?"

The Uruk-Hai looked puzzled, as if he hadn't expected the conversation to continue. After a few moments, he banged his chest plate and shouted out, "We are the fighting Uruk-Hai!"

"Yes, yes, I believe that's been established. Now then, can you…"

Number Nine was cut off by another cry, this time from more of the group, once again stating that, "We are the fighting Uruk-Hai!"

"Oh shut up, you lummoxes!" a high squeaky voice shouted out. Pushing its way through the masses, Number Nine was confronted by a shorter version of an Uruk-Hai, but with a significantly larger cranium. "Sorry about this," the thing explained to Number Nine, "but we had some problems in the engineering process. They fight well enough, but they can't seem to form a sentence more complicated than, 'We are the Fighting Uruk-Hai!'"

Nine nodded sympathetically. "Well, that certainly is a problem."

"Yes, it is. That's why I, the Thinking Uruk-Hai, have to travel around with them."

"We are the Fighting Uruk-Hai!"

"Shut up! Now then, what can I do for you?"

"Uh, well, I want to know if this is the way to Rohan or not. I'd like to buy a horse."

"Well, you see, this is Rohan right here, so congratulations. But I wouldn't count on buying a horse if I were you."

"Why not?"

"We're on our way to kill every single Rohirim in the area. And after we kill them, we're going to sell their bodies as fashionable ladies hats, and use their hair to knit fancy quilts."

Number Nine grimaced. "That's… vile."

"Yes, well, that's what happens to people who annoy the mighty Sauruman!"

"Yes, I can understand that. His temper is very… wait, did you say you work for Sauruman?"

The Thinking Uruk-Hai blanched for a second. "Err, of course not! Ha ha! What I meant was, we're the freelancing volunteer Uruk Fire Department…"

Number Nine wasn't the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but even he had a small amount of wit. "So! Sauruman is going around building armies, eh? We specifically told him he couldn't do that until he applied for a permit."

The Thinking Uruk-Hai glared at the Nazgul. "Yeah, well so what? We can build up armies if we want to, whether or not we have permission from Mister Flaming Eye Ball, or what ever lame form he's in now."

"Hey! Hey! That's just until we get the Ring back!"

"Yeah, and you've sure been doing a good job at that. I hear you got to the Ring Bearer, only to be beaten back by a river! What, afraid that your cloak would get wet and shrink?"

"Well, actually…"

"I thought so! Why don't you just go back to Mordor and let the might of Isengard take over?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what? You call this might? Hah! The Dark Lord laughs at flattery! A lot! This one time, we made a painting of him, and he laughed for hours!"

"Pretty big words for a guy who got defeated by having his finger cut off!

"SHUT UP! That could have happened to ANYONE!"

"Yeah, it could have happened to anyone who was a total LOSER!"

It was at this moment that Number Nine said something that many would have considered drastic. "Oh YEAH!?"

The Thinking (and Fighting) Uruk-Hai gasped. "Right, there was no call for that! We were just kidding around, but if you're going to get personal, we may as well just leave!" And with that, the Uruk-Hai stormed off.

Number Nine was left fuming. And after he put out the fumes, he was left angry. No one could talk about Sauron like he was just another flaming eyeball! (It just so happened Sauron was very sensitive about that.) But Number Nine was very, very sneaky (like a ninja!), and there was no way he was going to let Sauruman get away with this! He was going to walk to Isengard, and exact a cruel, cunning, and evil revenge upon the White Wizard…

He was going to get him really drunk, take pictures of him in bed with an elf, send the pictures to the news paper, and ruin Saruman's reputation forever!

Or something like that.


	6. Sauruman's Sob Story

For a wizard, Sauruman didn't have much of a sense for home decorating. It might have just been Number Nine's opinion, but the whole "torn down wall," and "grounds flooded with water," effect didn't do anything for him.

The Ringwraith let himself into Isenguard (the door was left open), but soon noticed there was no one there. Certainly, there were more large trees in random locations than he remembered, but there used to be a lot more servants and such running around. Perhaps Sauruman was downsizing his staff, and that's why the plumbing seemed to have backed up.

Now, Ringwraiths are deathly afraid of water, but this was a matter of revenge. So Number Nine steadied himself and waded towards the tower of Orthanc. Climbing the steps, wringing out his clothes, the Nazgul knocked on the front door. "Sauruman! I know you're in there, Sauruman! This is the Nazgul! Come on out!"

Either he caught the wizard in a bad mood, or he no longer practised good English, because the voice echoing from the balcony above simply stated, "Sod off!"

Nine was taken aback. The wizard was supposed to be one of the great minds of all time, and not prone to using phrases like, "sod off." The Ringwraith steadied his courage and shouted up at the balcony, "Ok, Sauruman, come on out, I want a word with you!"

Appearing suddenly on the balcony was Sauruman the White (or was it Sauruman the Tie Dye, Number Nine thought. The robe seemed to change color every time he looked at it.) and he didn't look very pleased with his new company. "Alright, alright, what?!"

"I happened to run into you army lately. I thought we agreed no making armies until Sauron gives the Ok."

The wizard sneered. "I can bloody well do what I like, can't I? I'm the White Wizard!"

"Well, there's no need to talk to me in that tone. I just wanted to make sure that you…" Nine's voice trailed off as he realized Sauruman was crying.

"Boo hoo hoo! Why can't every one just leave me be? I'm so misunderstood!"

Nine couldn't help but stare. He appeared to have struck a nerve. "Err, are you, uh, are you crying?"

"And so I should, with the troubles that have befallen me! Or perhaps you would like to penalize me for feeling sorry for myself?"

The Ringwraith was silent for a bit. The wizard seemed to be in genuine distress. "Alright, alright, what's wrong?"

Sauruman sniffed. "What isn't wrong? No sooner do I see my brave Fighting Uruk-Hai off, then those dratted Ents show up on my doorstep!"

"Ents?"

"Indeed! Apparently, they didn't like my plans for bettering the area. I tried to talk to them but they… they… kicked down the door!"

"You're kidding."

"No, sir, I am not kidding! Indeed, they amused themselves for hours by destroying my wonderful home. Imagine, being attacked in your own home by vandals!"

Nine shuffled his feet. He had never had that problem at Minas Morgul… maybe Sauruman had had a rough day already after all…

"And then," Sauruman managed to choke out during sobs, "they had the nerve to FLOOD the place! Flood it! After I had just put down a new lawn and everything! Where is the justice in the world?"

Really quite touched by Sauruman's sob story, Number Nine tried to be helpful. "Well, at least that can all be fixed, surely…"

Sauruman let out a wail. "Oh, if only that was the end of it all! No, now I just know that Gandalf will ride up and tell me what a very foolish person I have been. And then…" he started to cry uncontrollably.

Nine couldn't help but be curious. "And then?"

"And then he'll… laugh at my beard! Yes, he often amuses himself by taunting it and telling me how much better his is!" He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. "And now, to top it all off, the King of the Nazgul himself has come to deal with me…"

"Wait, what?" Number Nine blinked. "No, no, I'm not the Witchking. I'm just another Ringwraith."

Sauruman looked aghast. "You mean to tell me that such a fine figure of a man is not in charge?"

The Ringwraith looked at his reflection in the water. Yes, now that he thought about it, he did look rather muscular, for a man clad in a large black sheet. And, if he stood up straight, he was taller that Number One too.

"But alas," Sauruman cried in a voice, snapping Number Nine out of his thoughts, "I have wasted enough of your time. Surely, if you must punish me, you may as well do it now."

Number Nine scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, I guess building your own army isn't such a terrible thing… and you have had such a rough time lately…"

Sauruman looked at him hopefully. "So you'll let me be?"

The Ringwraith nodded. "Well, I guess so."

The wizard gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you kind sir. Where are you off to now?"

Nine started to walk away. "Well, I'm on a super secret mission, so I can't be sure, but I won't be bothering you any more certainly. Well, good bye then."

"See you later, chump."

"What was that?"

"I said, see you later, champ!"

The Ringwraith gave the wizard a friendly wave, ran through the icky water as fast as he could, and continued on his quest.


	7. The Silmaril Bowl, 1697

Who the heck plants a tree right smack in front of their door?

That was what Number Nine was thinking as he exited Isenguard. No sooner had he exited that disgusting pool and rung out his robes then he walked right into the trunk of a tree, which he swore was not there when he went in, because if it had been there, he wouldn't have been able to get in in the first place. It was apparent to Number Nine that this forest foliage was taunting him (he hated when they did that). "Out of my way, you stupid deciduous plant life!" (Nine had to dig into his thesaurus for that one.)

In all honesty, the Ringwraith hadn't actually expected the tree to respond. Trees only talk in low budget animated films, and unless everything Number Nine knew was wrong, this was not one of those. But respond the tree did; indeed, it opened its eyes (which, Nine was forced to admit, was slightly terrifying if you weren't expecting it) and gazed down at the Nazgul. "Deciduous?" it said in an agonizingly slow voice. "Never heard that one before. Sounds… hasty."

Scared as he was, Number Nine made the quick assumption that if this thing wanted to, it could probably turn him into an Ex-Wraith (or a Naz-Gone. Nine was particularly proud of that one.) He decided to clarify. "Oh, well, deciduous is just another word for a tree that has leaves instead of needles."

The thing scratched his head with a long branch like hand (oh yes, it had arms too. And, as Nine looked more closely, legs.) as it digested this bit of information. "Hmm… that's very interesting indeed. Very interesting. But then, I suppose what you were implying was that I was a tree, hmm?"

Nine raised his hands in protest. "No, sir, of course not. I was temporarily mistaken. You look nothing like a tree, honest."

Ever so slowly, the thing, which was most definitely not a tree, bent down to examine this new visitor. "Hmm, that's good. I'm not a tree, you know. You wouldn't believe how many people make that mistake." He gave a small chuckle, as if he had made a joke. Nine responded with a nervous giggle, not wanting this thing to think that his joke (what ever it had been) wasn't funny. His giggling soon trailed off, as the thing leaned in for closer inspection. "But now then, little napkin, what if I had been a tree? You weren't thinking of harming me, were you?"

There is nothing as annoying as being referred to as a napkin to a Ringwraith. But, since Nine had called this thing a tree, he let it slide. "Oh, heck no, sir," he stammered. "I love trees! Love them! I had a pet tree when I was little! I buy fuel efficient horses! When it's cold out, I put on a sweater rather than make a fire! I tried to marry a pine when I was younger, but her parents stopped the wedding…"

The thing interrupted. "Well, that's good. If you had been planning to harm my trees, I would have been forced to kick you from here to Lothlorien."

Nine gazed up at the thing. "You can do that?"

It nodded. "Oh yes, I can kick things quite far, when I need to. I used to play foot ball for the University of Fangorn, you know."

"…really."

"Oh yes, we had quite a good team. Won the Silmaril Bowl one year, if I recall. What year was that…?"

Number Nine could see the thing was starting to reminisce, and tried to excuse himself politely. "That's very fascinating, but I really must be going…"

It was too late. The thing was still talking. "Hm, what year did Moria close down? Must've been in the 1690's, Second Age."

"You don't say. Now then…"

"Yes, I remember now. The Fangorn Ents versus the Angband Dragons. A good little University, Angband was. They finally had to close down though. Apparently they hadn't been paying their bills for centuries."

"Super. Now…"

"I can see it all now, you know. It was the fourth quarter, game all tied up, with two seconds to go. We had finally gotten into field goal range."

"Lovely. But…"

"The coach came up to me, and he said, 'Treebeard, how would you like to win this game for us?'"

"Well, he was quite a guy…"

"And I responded, 'You didn't name the University after me for nothing.' So I tied up my shoes and went out on to that field."

"What an effort. But really…"

"Well, I gave that ball a good kick. Flew straight and true. And just like that, we had won the Silmaril Bowl! Ah what a game that was."

"Uh huh. But…"

"Of course, the playing fields were five hundred yards in those days…"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP!" Nine yelled, forgetting he was very small and Treebeard very big. Treebeard looked at Nine with amazement, as if he was surprised he was even still there. Acting quickly, Nine adopted a more civil tone. "That is, I already know of your exploits. In fact, I was sent here by the University. It seems you forgot to claim your Championship Ring after you won, so I've been sent to deliver it to you."

The ent looked questionably at the Ringwraith. "Hmm, I thought I had gotten it ages ago. Oh well, better have it now."

Nine was overcome with glee as he handed Treebeard the dwarven ring. Finally, someone was taking this ring! Now he could go home and relax and not have to worry any more about…

"Hmm, it won't fit." Number Nine's joy ceased as he saw the ring was too small for the ent's finger. He handed it back to the Nazgul. "Better have it replaced."

Number Nine stammered. "No, no, we can make it fit! We'll just get you a new finger, that's all! Here, I'll cut off a thin branch from one of these dumb trees, and then we'll…"

WHAM!

It was a good thing the fields were five hundred yards in those days, Nine thought as he hurtled through the air. Otherwise the games would be over very quickly…


End file.
